Damian & Lian
by The Qing
Summary: Sequel to Lian! Forced to remain in Wayne Tower to recover from the injuries he sustained in Star City, Damian must spend the day trying to entertain a moody Lian, who is surprisingly unimpressed with the New Dynamic Duo’s lack of mansion and Batcave. AU.


Damian & Lian

Summary: Sequel to Lian, "It was then Damian thought up a plan. A very mad plan. Damian thought up a wonderfully mad plan!" Forced to remain in Wayne Tower to recover from the injuries he sustained in Star City, Damian must spend the day trying to entertain a moody Lian, who is surprisingly unimpressed with the New Dynamic Duo's significant lack of mansion and Batcave. Features a surprising twist that will have dire ramifications on this Elseworlds-esque timeline for stories to come; because, you know, we were all so tired of how predictable the stories from the first to the second were going…

Author Note: Sequel to the somewhat, kind-of lauded story which you maybe perhaps asked for a continuation probably. The reception of the first fic far exceeded my expectations, the good ones, not the really, really dismal expectations, so I've decided to fulfill my end of the bargain by releasing this, the second installment, and something of a story pitch for future fics involving the title characters. So if you haven't drowned in the immense cheesiness of the title and/or the summary, read on, and don't forget to review and let me know what you think! I can't listen if you don't make yourselves heard!

By all accounts and every logical fibre in his being, Alfred should have gone to bed and let the boy starve for what remained of the night. Or failing to have the nerve for such cruelty, at least make sure a very cold and very stale dinner was all that awaited him when he came back from his little joy ride; he had heard that Bread and Water was quite the international sensation, a classic, you couldn't go wrong with the basics.

But here he was, clad only in his pajamas and smoking jacket, staring at the display on his laptop, a counter ticking away the seconds until the Batmobile and its passengers arrived at the building. All so that he could heat the sandwiches for just the right amount of time, account for how long it would take for the elevator to take him to the bunker, so he could appear in front of the driveway mere moments before Damian's little four-wheeled, sky born project would come wheeling in. And in his last set of night clothes no less, a rather tacky ensemble that night if he did say so himself, hardly suitable for the stern talking to he wished to inflict on the young Wayne.

Still, as he put the last of the sandwiches on the tray, he knew he'd get the last laugh.

Alongside the rather refined display of high-class cutlery and presentation, were two apple juice boxes. Oh how Damian had told him again and again that he preferred, no demanded protein shakes and energy drinks in tall glasses, goblets, or even canteens. Sometimes Alfred remembered and complied, while other times, like tonight; the memory would just escape him. It needn't be said though that Master Grayson had given him several knowing winks and covert ample supplies of tetra packs full of fruity goodness and all the nutrients that little boys needed to grow up big and strong whenever Damian had taken to destroying whatever cardboard container of said goodness he could lay his hands on.

He so hoped Miss Harper still enjoyed Peanut butter and Jelly in her sandwiches; Too many children these days were rushing to grow up far too soon.

As the good butler's foot touched the garage pavement he heard it; the whisper of a phantom engine, a faint sound so foreign and unlike anything natural, that one had to know that such an eerie vibration. By the time you knew what it was, it was already too late. Batman and Robin had found you.

Of course there had been great debate over whether the engine ought to sound like that or C4 detonating. A compromise was reached though; there was a button on the dash that cued the boom.

Alfred had heard louder in his time.

When the jet-black vehicle carefully parked itself in front of him, Alfred's form visibly relaxed. The fear that the car had encountered difficulties during its abduction or that the damages from its unprecedented cross-country flight would be sever were put at ease; the sides were a little scratched, and the hubcaps were a tad weathered looking. Not to mention the fine layer of sediment that peppered its surface. All in all, it didn't look like a car that had been in the middle of a city-shattering disaster, so Master Damian and Miss Harper must've gotten out before **Star City fell.**

He just knew that some unimaginative hack was going to make that the title of whatever trashy novel he was going to write to cash in on this tragedy.

When the reinforced crimson glass slid back into the black hood of the vehicle, Alfred could immediately tell something had gone wrong, very wrong.

The odor was what hit him first; the sterile conditions of the basement headquarters highlighted every smell or stain that invaded it with merciless clarity; limestone, something that resembled the bouquet of medicine, and most alarmingly blood.

Damian himself gave the next hint as he exited the vehicle. The young boy was covered in a fine layer of dust, though interestingly, mostly on his backside. The clothes there were also torn in several places, exposing small cuts and bruises. Not to mention the fact that the usually stoic lad was limping

But things only really came together when the boy hobbled over to the other side of the Batmobile, heaved as he lifted something from the passenger seat, and turned to reveal an unconscious, little girl in his arms sporting her own share of dirt and scrapes.

"Your assistance is required Pennyworth."

* * *

"You could have called." Pennyworth lightly reprimanded as he finished his examination. "Told us what happened."

Damian was busy frowning at the juice boxes on the tray. "We're here aren't we? I sent a message when I got in the car telling you we were on our way, and we're here. Those trifling details would've wasted time to type."

"Far be it from me from questioning the results Master Damian, but whether or not you and Miss Harper were caught in the middle of an imploding city is hardly a trifling detail." The butler finished bandaging the last of the cuts. "By any measure." He finished.

The boy took a bite out of his Reuben. "How is she?" he demanded.

Though obviously the worse for wear of the two, Damian was obstinate that the girl be treated first. Thankfully, her injuries couldn't have been any less severe, the bruises were minor and whatever cuts she had received from the ordeal had been cleaned with Betadine beforehand.

"Out of all the disaster victims I've had the displeasure of treating over the years, none have come close to being as nigh-pristine in body as our guest Miss Harper." He set the spool down and turned to face Damian, who was taking measured bites of his sandwich and obviously resisting the urge to simply savage the dish. "You did an excellent job treating her wounds by the way."

Damian turned away, though it hurt to do so, and wondered if Alfred would still be saying that if he knew that it had only been possible because Lian had been unconscious from his Nerve Strike at the time. "Forgot to restock on Band-Aids earlier, had nothing to cover the cuts afterwards."

Alfred shook his head and wondered if the boy understood that he was being sincere. "Well we should be thankful that it's a few light wounds lacking bandages than something far more permanent, shouldn't we?"

The young Wayne didn't answer the bit of subtle praise. Instead he finished his meal with the grace he thought becoming of him and walked towards the armory.

The butler's eyes widened. "And just where do you think you're **hobbling** to?" Alfred shouted, body poised to tackle the youth to the floor in case he decided to do something stupid at 4 in the morning.

Damian's shuffling form stiffened. "I'm not hobbling." He stated defensively.

"You are,"

It was a fact, true, no denying it. But Damian could try. "She's all right, correct? That's all I needed to know Pennyworth."

"Where are you going then?" Alfred asked, arms crossed, ever the parental figure in his medical apron and plaid pajama bottoms.

"Patrol, there are still a few hours left and Grayson is more than likely in need of my help." Damian answered as he continued to hobble toward his costume.

Alfred stifled a sigh, did Damian think so little of Master Dick that he didn't believe that his father's former protégé would be capable of keeping things together for more than a night? "Master Damian, there are many things you are, and many things you aren't; Stupid and Invincible being two in the latter category." This time he allowed the sigh to pass. "You've just escaped from the middle of a cataclysm that has claimed tens of thousands of lives and nearly yours and Miss Harper's." he saw Damian shudder, or did he cringe, was he frightened of being reminded, or ashamed? Alfred decided to press on, "Please, give yourself time to recuperate…" he paused before insinuating that if Damian refused, he'd be more a danger to himself and Master Dick than the dregs of Gotham. It would have worked, but the boy's ego was a fragile thing, he'd see the genuine concern as spiteful pity, doubt that he was useful, he'd brood for days if the words hit his ears. "…risking your life to protect Miss Harper, has certainly earned a respite."

Damian appeared to stumble. He had expected a tired warning that he'd only be endangering himself and Grayson if he proceeded, it would hurt, but he'd submit, there wasn't anything worse than being a hindrance after all. But credit for saving Lian? He had almost gotten her killed! "Wh-why would you say that?" Leave it to the manservant to lavish praise on him for the wrong thing!

The man smiled, irking Damian even further. "Miss Harper here, despite coming from the same disaster zone, is virtually unharmed. And even without formally examining you I can tell that you have sustained several mild-to-major injuries. The torn back of your jacket suggests that you exposed yourself to a great deal of harm, more than likely in the act of shielding Miss Harper, seeing as how you would not be so careless to let a building fall on you without good reason." He gave the extra cot a tap. "Shall we see if you will require **ANOTHER** spine?"

"-tt-." Damian huffed as he began to move toward Alfred, his limp more apparent than ever with each reluctant step. "When did you decide to try your hand at Sherlock Holmes, Pennyworth?"

"With all due respect young sir, It would be an impossibility not to pick up a few skills while aiding the world's greatest detective."

"And his partner." Damian half muttered.

Alfred nearly chuckled. "Yes, him as well."

* * *

Damian had to admit, his father had been no fool when he had hired Luscious Fox. The Bat-Quad Motorbike, though unoriginal in concept, was a rather well-made vehicle. The engine was made to last, frame was light but durable to small-arms fire, and its tight controls ensured that it would be capable of tackling the crowded hairpin Gotham turns despite its enormous wheels. What a nightmare it would be in the rearview mirrors of criminal getaway cars.

"Master Damian…"

Shame there wasn't anything broken.

"Can you hear me?"

If there was, he could fix it, and if he could fix it, he'd have something to do. He had spent the better part of the new day shuffling about the basement of Wayne tower tweaking this, moving that, and trying as hard as he could not to talk with Grayson or Pennyworth. He hated being grounded, this was probably the first time it had every happened to him, but he decided he would hate it from then on.

"Your feet are twitching."

Now with the Batmobile well-tuned, the computer defragged, and his costume cleaned, there wasn't much else he could tinker with…

"If you intend to stay under the Bat-Quad for the rest of the day, shall I fetch you a pillow and blanket."

Damian grumbled as he wheeled himself from under the bike. "Need anything Pennyworth?"

The butler had with him a tray laden with a light assortment of grilled chicken and vegetables. "Why no sir, you've done such a marvelous job tidying up the place there's scarcely anything for me to do."

Damian's left eye twitched, he hadn't thought about that. "Don't get too cozy Pennyworth, I've only done so to allay my boredom. Pray it doesn't influence me to make a mess to sate it." He lightly threatened as Alfred handed him his lunch. "Thank you."

"Please understand Master Damian, Master Dick only has your best interest in mind. You're in no condition to tackle the Arkham investigation."

The boy gave his meal a sour chew that had nothing to do with the taste, which was as always, topknotch; he couldn't even complain about it to pass the time. "You're sure it will only be for a few days."

"No longer than that." Alfred assured.

"Or shorter?" Damian piped, though the soreness that had been with him all morning had not abated in the slightest.

"Correct." The butler couldn't help but feel that Damian was asking him when a case of the chickenpox would finally abate, and given his age, the association wasn't so much of a stretch. "And no, you're still too young for morphine."

Grayson probably thought the lack of pain would make him more disagreeable at why he was stuck in the tower; if he couldn't feel, he couldn't get hurt, he could still function, sound logic right? The former boy wonder didn't seem to think so. "I just hate sitting here and doing nothing." He gave his hand a shake to test the waters, no, still pain. "I can barely train because of my injuries, I've scoured this base for anything that may need fixing, finished whatever I could find, nothing left and it's barely past 12." He lightly kicked with his left foot, it was even worse than his hand, how he had traversed the ruined Star City without feeling a thing he'd most likely never discover. "Lifestyle of the rich and priveleged indeed."

Alfred briefly contemplated how dreary Master Bruce could be when he was too injured to go on his nightly prowls, and decided he didn't want to find out if his son was capable of the same level of soul-dragging melancholy. "Then may I suggest that you…'hang out', with our guest?"

Damian's spine straightened in reflex, sending another jolt of pain through him. "Did you block all the news channels?"

"She's getting nothing but cartoons and cooking shows Master Damian."

"Thrown out the day's paper?"

"Shredded, but I saved the funnies and horoscope for you if you'd like to see."

"Internet cut?"

"Quite frankly, I'm not very sure she knows how to use a computer yet Master Damian."

"Pennyworth…"

"Yes, yes, all is as you requested."

"Then I don't see the problem." As long as she didn't see what he had seen, the grotesque pentagon with its upright horns as if to signify the triumph of matter and duality of spirit and unity, that seemed to grow and entrench itself deeper into the city as the Batmobile flew into the clouds to escape the carnage there'd be no problem. He had learned the death toll that day; 90,000 and counting. 90,000 sacrificed in the hungry star, the symbolism dripping with malice and irony. He couldn't see them, not like he had on the street, but he could imagine, and so could she; he had been glad that she had been asleep. "She should be fine."

"She's bored, sir." Alfred said.

Damian gulped down his energy drink, Alfred had felt rather generous that noontime. "Isn't it your job to do something about that?"

"My profession is to serve our guests Damian, it is the host's duty to entertain his guests, and seeing as Master Richard is out for the day following leads, that makes you…" he motioned to Damian in case the lad hadn't quite grasped the concept. "…The host."

This caused the boy to stroke his chin in thought; Host, he rather liked the sound of that. Still, just because he had a lot of free time didn't mean he wanted to waste it. "Entertainment isn't one of my fortes Pennyworth, I wouldn't know where to begin."

"Well I don't know if you're quite aware, but she's something of a fan of Batman and Robin. I'm sure she would be positively spellbound with a tour of the complex." Alfred espoused.

"_A fan, eh?"_ Damian mused. _"But of which version?" _he thought as he got on his feet and gave his back a good stretch_. "Lord, this must be what an old man feels like!" _he shot Alfred a curious look and shrugged. "Well it may help pass the time." The corners of the butler's lips seemed to quirk upwards, ever so slightly. "And besides, it's better than searching for embarrassing secrets in Drake and Grayson's files."

Alfred took a moment to adjust his collar. "No luck?"

"On the contrary, I've had an overabundance of luck. I'm just afraid that I'll lose whatever vestiges of respect I have for them if I keep going."

"And to what end was this enquiry made for?"

Damian nearly smiled as he began wiping his hands off with a rag. "Blackmail."

* * *

She was sitting on one of the barstools when he arrived, elbows propped up, hands cradling her head as she stared at the widescreen suspended over the countertop. Not quite focused, but concentrated enough that she didn't hear him come in.

"Afternoon," he said as casually as he could. It had looked to be the most appropriate greeting, he didn't know her well enough to use platitudes such as 'Hey', and it was better than 'Harper' in any case.

Lian blinked at hearing the new voice before turning to face him. "Hey Robin." She said, apparently more comfortable with greeting him in that particular manner. "Are you okay?"

If it had been anyone else a sarcastic remark or a flat dictation of his plight would have been swiftly administered. This was somehow different though. "Well, I'm a bit bruised, my body's sore in some places, but otherwise I've had worse." He paused, considering what he would say next. "Thank you for asking."

"That's good, it's just that I hadn't seen you all day, I thought you were resting."

"Ah, well…"

There was a pause, a very unwanted pause; A silence that Damian was positively livid at. He hadn't had much trouble speaking when he didn't want to talk, but now that needed to, nothing came to mind. _"I'm taking this far too seriously," _he thought._ "I have no problem routing a boardroom of would be embezzlers, having a conversation with a 6 year-old shouldn't even be remotely challenging."_ He made a resolute nod, opened his mouth to speak and…nothing. _"Why is this happening? My father never had any trouble with this."_

And Bruce Wayne never did, despite his alter ego's propensity for stand-offish, nigh-antisocial behavior, and his own hard-nosed business decisions, anyone not lambasting him for his supposed playboy antics would say he was a charming man in his prime, and a very accommodating host. Sadly, due in no small part to his upbringing, Damian had been raised to emulate, and had chiefly paid attention to the vigilante and corporate executive part of his father's personality, not that of the charismatic socialite.

"_That's right, it took Bruce Wayne years to cultivate his public identity, I should think of this as training, yes training."_ He took a deep breath. "Everything to your…liking, so far?"

The girl gave her opulent surroundings a neutral stare. "Things are good. But I thought it'd be different." She answered, sounding disappointed.

Damian's eyes widened, he had expected her to be bored, annoyed, but disappointed, with his father's building? Never! "Explain, Harper."

Lian didn't seem to catch the demand in Damian's voice as she blithely answered. "Uncle Dick told me that he lived in a mansion with Uncle Bruce when he was Robin, but this is more like the apartment me and Daddy used to live in."

"You mean 'Daddy and I'." Damian corrected and winced, he had just said 'daddy'. He'd have to ask her if she had messed up on purpose just to hear him say that. "And this isn't an apartment, certainly not like any you've ever lived in." he smiled, that had come easy for him to say. "It's a penthouse."

Her face screwed up in concentration at his boast. "What's a penthouse?"

"You're standing in one."

"No, like what they have in a Thesaurus."

"Dictionary." He corrected again, though he knew a thesaurus could serve a similar purpose. "And it's a-a-a-." he paused.

Lian looked at the boy, puzzled at his sudden silence. "So…it is an apartment?"

The boy resisted the urge to storm off in a huff at having been left at a loss for words twice in the same conversation. "Yes, I suppose, but it's bigger than all the others, and its at the very top of the building and has…incredible views." His words petered off, now he was just making excuses.

"Well, I like the furniture." She assured, though it didn't seem like she was going to be impressed by anything else any time soon."

She was staring at him again, a polite smile playing at her lips, probably unaware at how much she was aggravating him; Probably. Again, that unbearable quiet threatened to creep back in. He needed to do something, he couldn't just stare into her eyes for the whole day. _"What did Alfr-, uh, Pennyworth recommend, a tour?"_ he mentally chewed. _"Yes, a tour, perfect!"_ If there was one thing Damian knew about, though he'd tell you he knew a great deal, it was the Bunker. He was familiar with every piece of equipment used and stored there, he could go on for hours explaining how it all worked. Of course, he wouldn't tell her anything confidential, just enough to let her jaw drop at the sheer breadth of the operation. It couldn't fail.

* * *

The moment they stepped out of the elevator Damian could tell that the tour had gone off to a bad start. Because upon entering the inner sanctum of Gotham's most renowned crimefighters, the hub of its greatest vigilante duo, and not to mention, the place he had helped build and maintain, Lian looked left, looked right, looked up, then down, and looked right back at him, all without saying a word, but clearly discontent.

Despite having sat through a psychotic circus surgeon's striptease without batting an eyelash, Damian was inexplicably unnerved by her stare, it was like something between a scowl and a pout. "Well?" he said, lifting his arm to indicate the Bunker in case she forgot to be awed by it a second before.

"This isn't a cave."

The comment stung, obvious and naieve no doubt, but it still stung somehow. "I never said it would be a cave Harper."

"You said we were going to your hideout. You're Robin and Batman,"

"Batman and Robin-." Wait, did he just admit that? She had actually gotten the team's name right the first time and he screwed it up? How was this happening?

Her face flustered a shade, slightly embarrassed. "Sorry, anyway, everyone knows that Batman and Robin live in the Batcave. And this isn't a cave, there're no stalactites and mites or creepy shadowy places, it's a basement."

Damian's teeth clenched as he fought the string of words and expletives that would furiously elaborate how it wasn't just 'a basement', because they in turn would admit it was a basement. "I know how this looks, but in many ways it's better than the Batcave." He took a deep calming breath; mentally listing all the ways the Bunker was technically superior to its damp predecessor. "It's located in the middle of the city, making it easier to get to crises in Gotham; It doesn't have a huge gaping chasm that's just begging to be fallen into; From here we're closer to Gotham's pulse, its happenings; It's also easier to get to if we're in the city and need access to our gear and-and-." He stopped, because that was pretty much the extent of its advantages.

To be honest, he and Dick would have been fine with the Batcave, El Sombrero's traps had been disarmed, and the Black Glove's vandalism had been undone. The computer had been more impressive a sight to behold, even if it wasn't HD capable like the one in front of them. It was spacious too, and was just like what his mother told him it would be like; deep and imposing, like a king's antechamber. But without Bruce, without him, it was all too empty, the dark, fast-paced electricity his father instilled in his endless bouts of planning and preparation had gone, leaving a burnt-out, crumbling husk. He still wasn't here in the Bunker, but it wasn't as bothersome to him and Dick here.

"Robin? You okay?"

However, 'it also doesn't frequently remind me that my father is lost in time' was not a feature he wanted to impart. His eyes darted about, trying to find something to add to his short list. Yet, it was his ears that answered, with the faint sound of a flag being rustled from its lofty placement atop a collection of suspended bars, swings and hoops.

Damian opened and closed his fists, a bit of an ache, but not as bad as before, he must have been mad.

"-And we could never install anything like this in the Batcave." He said,

Lian looked to the myriad of poles and chains, faint memories from her infancy of younger versions of her aunts and uncles leaping around such constructions bubbled up at the sight. "What's it for?" she asked, though she had a pretty good idea.

Damian put pressure on one foot, then another, bearable, he could do this; it just needed to be quick.

"Acrobatic Maneuvers." He answered before taking a running leap at the nearest bar. It pained him more than he expected, simply going through his normal routine at a faster pace wouldn't cut it. And for the first time in his life, he wondered what Dick Grayson would do.

Usually, he wondered what Bruce Wayne would do, since Dick Grayson had always been around to do whatever he would do in any particular situation. His father's way couldn't work for him here, it would be brutal and straightforward, depending on the body's dexterity to see him through the strain. Grayson would weave through the course as befitting a true acrobat, weaving through the obstacles, darting and leaping, but ultimately relying on the momentum of his movements, a single action channeled through subtle filters of exertion; a push, a twist, all directing one force.

So instead of solely grabbing the bar with his hands, Damian pulled to get his feet propped up on the pole as well; he tilted forward until his body was diagonal to the bar and sprung at an overhead trapeze. The back of his forearms throbbed, but without the weight of the uniform, the stress was less than usual. Releasing his grip at the peak of the swing he arched his body, diving through a metal ring, landing on another rod and finally jumping to the bar where the flag gently swayed above.

Although no stranger to such fantastic physical displays, Lian was still amazed at what she saw. Not minutes before Robin had had difficulty walking, and then all of a sudden he was vaulting on rail-thin bars and poles and hoops and moving in ways she didn't think possible for a kid to do. Even Jai and Iris couldn't do stuff like that, and they had superpowers!

She watched as He gingerely removed the flag from its cradle, and crossed his arms and legs in a cocky, assured manner that reminded her of her Uncle Dick somehow. She waved, he smirked, keeping a loose grip on his prize with no intention of waving it. He seemed to slip off the upright pole he was leaning against and fall into the garage only to pull out a small grappling gun, and fire a spike-tipped chord at the ceiling. When he had lowered himself to the ground, she was all ready there, heart pounding, and eyes alight with the excitement that Damian believed should have been there since they entered.

"That was so cool Robin!" she nearly laughed. "It looked like you were going to fall for real, splat, and then you took out that thing-and-and-Do you have superpowers?"

Truth be told, him falling hadn't been a deliberate stunt. If it had, the flag would still be in his grip instead of on the floor lying in a puddle of grease. The soreness that plagued him, made it difficult to tell how much of the bar was actually holding him up, and by then it was too late to grab back onto it. That's what he got for trying to emulate one of Grayson's smug poses, and now his right arm was killing him. Though, seeing as how she believed otherwise, it would've been a shame not to capitalize on it. "Don't insult me. What you just saw (well, most of it) was a direct result of years of rigorous exercise and practice." His chest puffed up a little, and his back ached in protest.

"How old are you?" Lian asked eagerly.

Damian looked for any meanness or contempt that usually trailed off this question when it was asked to him. Finding none, he reluctantly said. "Ten."

"And you can do all that neat stuff without super powers? I heard Uncle Dick and Uncle Tim were 12 when they started." She explained.

The words that came out of her mouth were so childish and direct, but all the more sincere. A still foreign warmth started to flow into Damian's cheeks. Lian had neither expertise nor experience to bring prestige to her praise, but it felt good, it felt really good coming from her. "Well Harper, I'm neither Drake nor Grayson, and if you thought that was impressive, wait until I get to be as old as they are now; a few more years of training, and I'll be more than ready to take up the mantle."

Mantle, Lian remembered that word, Uncle Bruce had one. Her Uncle Dick had mentioned it a few times to her dad, and how he was afraid he would have to inherit it someday. "You mean you're going to get Batman's job?"

"Not right now, no, but I fully intend to." He noted with delight that he could barely feel the bruises on his back. "Following the regime to the letter helps."

"Then do you think that I could ever, um, do what you just did?"

Damian's brow furrowed in question. "What, being Robin or that routine?"

"Maybe both?" she said. "You said you didn't have any powers, and that you can do all those flips and leaps because you worked hard. So if I trained hard too, do you think I could."

She wasn't specific on whether she could be Robin or adept at gymanistics but Damian decided to answer anyway. "Well I suppose if you started now and had the proper tutelage to direct your training, you might have a chance."

"Like from someone like you?" she piped.

The question was sudden, vibrant and sincere, taking Damian aback. "Yes, I believe I'd be more than capable."

Lian's smile grew wider. "Cool." She giggled, but her Cheshire grin shrank as she looked around the bunker again. "You should really get a better Batcave when you become Batman though, this one's kind of lame."

"Hrrrr…" This was going to be a long day.

* * *

Hours later, Damian lay in his bed, wide awake, dreading the week that was to follow.

As welcome as her admiration was, Lian had proved to be very hard to entertain and even harder to impress. He couldn't keep doing those shows, Alfred had already told him that those twenty seconds he had spent 'showing off' had prolonged his all ready excruciatingly long recovery period. Pennyworth had been right though, his mother's labs were no longer at his disposal, there would be no more augmented organs and limbs to make up for his screw-ups.

Avoiding her was a possibility, but she would undoubtedly seek him out, and then they'd sit, and have absolutely nothing to say.

When they did speak he was sure that she would say something cute and naieve that would unintentionally infruriate him. Of course, there was also the possibility she'd ask more questions about being Robin, and gush on how 'cool it was'. That had been nice.

"Why on earth am I the one running around to impress her? Jumping through hoops like some trained seel with bruises all over my backside. It's ludicrous, in fact I'd like to see her give it a-" he grimaced, what was it she had asked earlier? "-give it a-."

Within moments, Damian was on his feet and shuffling toward the penthouse elevator.

The seconds the computer required to boot up were the longest he had ever experienced. He furiously typed Lian's name into the search engine.

His father's file had been very thorough; birthdate, height, weight, eye-color, field of vision, allergies, parentage:

Speedy/Arsenal/Red Arrow

Cheshire

Vandal Savage

He leaned back into his chair, processing this new information: It was then that Damian thought up a plan. A very mad plan. Damian thought up a wonderfully mad plan!

Rubbing his hands together in delight, he made his way toward the armory.

He was back in his room 10 minutes later, a smile on his face, and a piece of cloth on his bedside.

* * *

When Damian walked into the kitchen the next day, Lian was all ready halfway done with her breakfast.

"M-fornin' Roben." She tried to say through a mouthful of waffles.

"Harper," he nodded, taking the seat across from her. "Have you seen Pennyworth?"

"Basement." Lian replied, gulping down a glass of milk.

_"Bunker,"_ Damian wanted to correct, but ultimately dismissed the notion. The important part was that butler wasn't present for what he was about to do. "You know Harper, I thought long and hard about what you asked me last night." He said, trying his best to look stern and authoritative.

LIan, not quite used to being referred to by her last name, blithely poured some more syrup onto her meal.

They'd need to talk about that in the future. A proper diet was essential for a strong and agile physique.

"And my answer's Yes." He stated, taking something from his pocket and sliding it across the table.

Lian spied the object, it was a patch, circular, outlined with gold, and in the middle, a loud stylized 'R'. Her sticky jaw opened in bewilderment.

It wasn't an absurd notion, her father had all ready been training her in archery, though not as intensely as he should have. She had a good pedigree and with her lifestyle she'd somehow get into trouble one way or another. They'd thank him in the end.

And besides….

"What's yours?" Damian asked, tapping the symbol of the Boy Wonder.

…At least no one would be bored.

**To be continued.**

Omake:

"Showing young Miss Harper around Master Damian?" a voice, refined and proper and tone questioned, stirring Damian from his self-imposed melancholy.

"Pennyworth." Damian tried not to sound too relieved. When they had first moved into the bunker, the butler had been very chipper walking around it. Maybe there was some charm to the place that had escaped the young Wayne. "Tell Lian why the Bunker is better than the Batcave."

Alfred stroked his chin, gazing at the ceiling as if it was an old friend. "Guano." He whispered.

"What's guano?" Lian asked.

The butler was still staring at the ceiling, cherishing its flat, lifelessness. "Bat droppings Miss Harper, Bat droppings everywhere, especially during mating season. And there's none to be had here.

"We tried using a sonar to get them out, but Master Bruce felt guilty about driving them from their home." He explained, almost in a trance. "The smell, the runniness, the stain…." He took a deep breath; concrete and bleach, what a fine boquet. "They're Miss Barabara's problem now."

And when he left, Lian imagined how hard and gross it must've been to clean up after the flying creatures every single night. "Robin, you're right, this is better."

"Glad to hear it." Damian grumbled.

**Author Note: **I know this is a little overdue, but hey, better late than never right. Now I know a lot of people are going to contest that Dick and Damian still live in the Mansion, but the problem with the Bat Books right now is that they have all kinds of conflicting information on where they live, and where they operate. I'm going with Morrison's supposition that they both live and work out of Wayne Tower, as it is closer to the city and away from the mixed memories of Wayne Manor. Plus, I thought it would be amusing to have Lian, who in several issues espoused how cool it would be to have a batcave, be disappointed at the lack of mansion and batcave, forcing Damian to literally jump through hoops to entertain her.

And a bit of an apology if you found the end a little abrupt, but I think I pulled it off all right, and if you think I could have done it better, I'm all open for suggestion.

Think of it this way, it sets up a frame for all kinds of wild and entertaining stories in the future, a frame I fully intend to return to in the future.

Oh, and in case you're wondering why Lian keeps referring to Damian is Robin, well, if you had read the previous fic, you'll remember that he never told her his real name. Yeah, he's a bit of an absentminded jerk. Or maybe he likes being referred to as Robin all the time. We'll get to that.

Also, this is the beta version of the fic, I'll be working out the kinks once it gets online.

R&R, it's what fuels me!!!

Citations:

Damian going through the jungle gym mirrors how Dick did it during Batman Annual 27 when the latter was trying to teach Damian a lesson.

Read Batman and Robin 12 to find out why Damian no longer has access to his spare bodyparts, you'll want to hug the little guy afterwards, trust me.

Damian also enjoys referring to his teamup with Dick as 'Robin & Batman'.


End file.
